2013.07.26 - Sharing Funyuns
After a long shift yesterday, Fern has been happy to have her usual Friday off. An errand earlier in the day brought an unexpected and brief reunion, but the rest of the day has been stress free and productive. Having been home for a little while, she decided to pop out to the corner store and pick up some junk food, courtesy of the generous tip left by Justin when he was in Anita Bella earlier in the week. Despite it not being the best neighborhood, and it being late enough that street lights are starting to flicker on, Fern seems unaffected by the short walk. She's become a fixture in her short time here, helping neighbors, her generally pleasant attitude winning her friends and acceptance. She's on a first name basis with most of the people she runs into frequently, and she's left alone. Returning from the store to her building, some change jingling in one hand, Fern's step is light. Her feet are bare (Raj at the shop lets her get away with it on her quick trips), and she's wearing a simple t-shirt and elastic waist shorts, which look suspiciously like the navy blue shorts that are common in most school gymnasiums. One arm cradles a brown paper bag, with a chips bag sticking out of the top. Elijah remembered at least a few places Fern mentioned about her neighborhood, or, at the very least, he was able to glean something from their connection, their direct mingling having left him with a clear impression of a few of her memories. Rather than just lean up against her door or climb in the window, he's been sitting on top of a building. He'd realized she as away as soon as he arrived but, rather than chase her down and find her, he stayed patient, knowing she would come home. Even though she's been in his head and knows his intentions, he hopes his showing up doesn't freak her out. He already did a plenty good job of it last time, which, of course, is why he's here. When she gets close to home, he puts his fingers to his lips and blows, the angle of his fingers allowing him to at least whistle, so as not to startle her as he slips down from the building, waving a hand in greeting and hoping that she doesn't scream and run away. The whistle draws Fern's attention upward, a light frown on her lips that eases as soon as she spies Elijah. "Heeeeey," she greets as he approaches, without screaming or running. "You're just in time. I bought more stuff than I can possibly eat without blowing up into an elephant, so come save me from myself." The little waitress doesn't seem surprised to find him descending from one of the buildings in her neighborhood. "That's my building," she adds, nodding to the next stoop up the block. While she steps forward, she doesn't reach out to touch him, unsure of the etiquette once you've touched souls with someone. Elijah relaxes visibly when she greets him in such a friendly fashion, approaching with an easy gait. He does look around a little bit, wondering what her neighbors might think of such a scruffy individual showing up to talk to her. Still, he's glad to see her and, when he approaches, pulls out his notebook, having pre-written something. When she talks about her food, he gives her a dubious but amused look and passes her the note first: Fern, I know our parting when last we met was awkward and sudden. That you're reading this, at least, shows that you're not too angry with me, I hope. I just want to make sure you're okay. And I want you to know I had no idea that would or even could happen. I am still learning to understand my abilities. You have been a wonderful and caring friend to me. I don't want you to feel that I would take advantage of your kindness or use you in any way. Thank you so much. He even signed it in case he had to leave it on her door, looking sheepish as he stands there. Fern shifts the bag, holding it out for Elijah to take with a soft, "Here." as she exchanges it for his note. She reads it, not just scanning over it, but actually reading it, then reads it again before looking up at him. "I'm not angry," she says, softly but without ambiguity. "And I know you wouldn't take advantage. That's not who you are." She tucks the note into the bag, holding her hand out as an invitation to his. "C'mon." Elijah still looks a bit embarrassed, memories of their moments together flicking through his mind now that he's in her presence again, quickly using the hefted groceries to disguise his features for a moment. Now that she's been in his head, it's perfectly possible she could read his mood with ease, and he still doesn't know how to quite process what's happened between them. It's simply outside of his realm of experience. He nods at her suggestion, though, easily carrying the groceries inside. When she offers the hand, he does hesitate, just for a moment, but reaches out, feeling the connection open immediately as they touch. "I just never wanted to hurt you, that's all." his voice murmurs in her head. "You haven't," comes the voiceless return, whispering softly right into Elijah's thoughts. "I didn't exactly resist what happened. But it was just a dream." Even though she says the words, it's clear that she's not exactly positive about them, the doubt coming through in her feelings. It's not anything she's ever experienced before, so she's actually not really sure how to classify it at all. As they shuffle up the stairs to her building she unsnaps a set of keys from a loop she's sewn onto the shorts for exactly that reason. She drops his hand for a moment and turns her attention to opening the outer door, then an inner one that leads into a small lobby with a rack of mailboxes. There's no elevator, which alleviates some of Fern's worry about her penchant for foods that hold absolutely no nutritional value since she lives on the fourth floor. Once they're both in, she takes his hand again, leading toward the stairs and up so they can keep their mental contact. Elijah has barely been inside an actual New York city apartment building, looking around with a bit of fascination at everything from the series of mailboxes to the locks. It's much like what he always would see sometimes on television (when he snuck out to watch a little television), but it's quite different, too, seeing it real and solid and in front of him. As for his feelings...they, too, are confused on the subject, his guilt inevitably mixed with trying to make sense of the very, very real pleasure he felt in that connection, and in the way it affected him so very strongly. The brief break of contact at least gives him a chance to try to shuffle those memories and associations back, finally taking her hand again on the stairs, "It's a lot different than being on the roof," he says with a smile. Fern turns her head, smiling back at Elijah, "It's not much, but it's home." She doesn't hurry them up to the fourth floor, and she doesn't fill the climb with chatter, except to think at him, "Thank you." for carrying her bag. When they're finally at the right floor she leads to a door, and stops them again. Of the six locks that line the door, she twists her key in the second, fourth and fifth locks, turning the knob to swing the door open, contact broken as she steps in and makes a sweeping gesture with her arm. "Mi casa es su casa," she says in tourist-Spanish. The apartment isn't much, but it's clean and tidy. She doesn't boast a lot in the way of decorations, but there are a few unique touches here and there. There's music playing as they enter; since she knew it would be a quick trip Fern didn't bother to turn off the elderly boombox that rests on the floor. It's not music he would be familiar with, since it's a soundtrack from a television show about vampires that once featured a musical episode. It's nearly theater! Fern locks three of the brass locks back up before she turns, reaching to take the bag for Elijah. "Can I get you something to drink? Well, not that I have a lot. A couple beers, milk and water," she says apologetically as she moves toward the "kitchen". Elijah smiles, squeezing her hand and following along with her, a necessity to maintain their contact since he does need to be touching her. He's never had beer, considering it for a moment. "Perhaps I should just have some water," he says instead, not giving in to the temptation. He listens to the music, finding nothing familiar about it, but a certain cheerful madness in the way it runs along. He doesn't understand very much of what they're singing about, but he rarely does, so he doesn't find it odd. "This is a nice home. It must be good to have a place to call your own, a haven from the outside world." "I'm lucky to have found it," Fern notes, turning and lifting their joined hands to set Elijah's onto her shoulder. This frees both hands, so she can grab two glasses, then lead him to the tiny refrigerator to pull out a jug of water. She alternates between speaking out loud and through their connection, not very mindful of which is which as the communication comes more natural the longer they maintain it. "Most places are more than I can afford. I like to think it was fate." Water is poured, the two glasses set onto the 'dining room table' as she unloads the grocery bag. The chips are set out and joined by a tub of salsa, a small bag of Funyuns and an ice cream sandwich. Fern turns to Elijah, smiling, lips stilled as she sends to him, "Where shall we start?" Elijah follows along dutifully, unable to help but see the humor in the way he just trails along behind her, still in his hood and jacket, one hand on her shoulder as she makes her way around the 'kitchen'. He doesn't mind in the least, using his free hand to occasionally put something on a shelf or helping to get down a dish. As he looks over the food, he cocks his head, having not eaten most of these things before. The diet of the Brotherhood was meant to be based on a biblical diet, a lot of grain and meat and lentils and such. Processed or packaged foods were largely forbidden, something the heathen kids ate. Most of the others usually cheated now and then, when they could, but Elijah, conscientious Elijah, almost always stuck to it. So, as he looks things over, he can't help but stare for a moment, "Funyuns?" he says simply, concerned. Although it's clearly some question of her sanity, Fern reaches for the bag of crunchy, pseudo onion treats, using both hands to pull it open and offering it out toward Elijah. "Try one," she offers. It's her favorite junk food, one of the junkiest, but she's always willing to share. There's a slightly assessing squint as she studies him, "I think you might like it, but you can never be sure until you try it, right?" She'll reach in second, pulling out a round, onion-y crisp, and crunching into it. Her eyes stay on him, looking for his reaction. Elijah takes one, his brow wrinkling at the texture of the thing, "Is this even an onion?" he says, peering at the thing. He even sniffs it - actually smells it, just to check - before putting it in his mouth, crunching down with a wary bite. When the salty tang of it hits his taste buds, his eyebrows shoot up, "I...have not ever tasted anything like that before! That's pretty amazing." he says, clearly very impressed by the amazing advances food technology has made since the year 0. Fern murmurs, "Not exactly." into his head, grinning as he sniffs the treat before testing it. Her grin only widens at his reaction and she scoops up the ice cream sandwich and salsa, leading him as she moves to put them away before taking up the two glasses of water, offering him one, and nodding toward the sofa. It's not only the only actual place to sit aside from kitchen chairs, but it'll afford them the chance to sit close and keep a connection. She's getting a little better at that the more they experiment with it, managing even to stifle a couple thoughts that she doesn't want to let through to him. Mostly, at least, and in large part by just not looking at him too directly. They're already treading on uncertain waters, she can't let biology screw things up. Elijah is in far more trouble with his biology, the feeling of her soft skin in his hand giving her constant flickers of his reaction to that touch, just brief tingles or sensations of pleasure and attraction. Nothing too overt or overwhelming, but nice. He settles into the couch, taking a moment to remove his hoodie and jacket, still in the same outfit, of course, as he settles in. He does manage to wash it once a week, at least, in the laundromat, having to do it piecemeal so he's not just standing around naked. He smiles, "It's good, though. Very crunchy," he says, looking curiously at the other foodstuffs. "We'll get to those," Fern promises, seeing his eyes linger at the table. She flops easily next to him, casually letting her knee rest on his leg so that they can have their hands free. "I wish I had a tv," she says, a note of wistfulness in her tone. "Maybe if I get another big tipper this week I'll finally have enough for a secondhand one and a dvd player. I can get movies from the library." She chatters lightly, keeping her thoughts in check, offering the bag of Funyuns again after she takes a ring herself. Elijah takes from the bag liberally, but not greedily, examining rings carefully, taking in the occasional defect or bubble or anomalous appendage. Sometimes he eats it all at once, sometimes nibbling a little bit at a time, the easy contact of her body to his freeing his hands but never leaving his thoughts entirely, always perfectly aware of exactly where and how she's touching him. "I never know what I think of television. We were raised to think it a great evil but, then, we were raised to think many things were great evils. Women wearing jeans was a big one, I remember,' he smiles, showing he, at least, has begun to see the absurd in much of what he was raised to believe. "I would watch television with you, though." Fern watches as Elijah looks at each individual crunchy imitation onion ring, finding his exploration and examination of them.... actually.... adorable. She catches the thought, swallowing as if she can swallow it, and then attempts to drown it out with her own crunching. It would have worked it they'd have been speaking, but a direct pipeline of communication isn't exactly broken up by outside sounds. "My folks used to show us old television shows, from dvds. I Love Lucy and The Andy Griffith Show. Mom thought they built character more than modern shows." Affection for her mother flows from her to Elijah, and a fondness for those simple shows. "Have you heard of them? I think you'd like them." She's already wondering if she can get copies from the library. Elijah nods, his cheeks warming as his adorableness is noted and conveyed, albeit entirely non-verbally. In some ways, that makes it almost better, as he gets to soak in the actual feeling of that admiration, feeling its sincerity in ways someone just being verbally complimented never could. Still, he, too, doesn't linger on it or push the issue, just focusing on delicious fauxnions and the direct line of questioning, "I have heard of them. They were even spoken of fondly...well, Andy Griffith was, anyway. But they are usually on television with commercials, and commercials were sinful, so we only ever heard about them. They were like folk stories," he grins. That is enough to make up Fern's mind to the fact that, it will happen one day. As soon as she can get the last of what she needs scraped together. A thought occurs to her, and as soon as it does it's being piped directly to Elijah. "We still need to go to a movie." No, she's not forgotten one of their first conversations, "I checked with Jerry and he said those Marx Brothers movies that I mentioned will be playing through the end of next week." Again, without it being spoken, the thought comes through that she should be able to swing that without it breaking her budget to pay for them both to get in. They probably won't get popcorn, which is unfortunate, but maybe she can sneak in a couple bags of Funyuns for them. Elijah can't help but laugh at the image of them smuggling Funyuns in under their clothes, reaching out and patting her knee, "I would like that very much, still. I don't want to put you out too much with money, though. I'm fairly good at sneaking into places, even now. I also keep a small bit of money hidden, just in case. Not very much, mind you, more for emergencies, but I think it would be worth it," he smiles. He helps out here and there with his power, his strength enabling him to help people with situations that they sometimes give him small gifts for. He never asks, but also never refuses. Gratitude is an honor and he would consider it rude to refuse. Despite the low level buzz of keeping some thoughts in check, Fern is clearly comfortable with Elijah. He'd have picked up on it already if she hadn't been, but their contact doesn't bother her. In fact, it's a comfortable feeling, not having to be on her guard against moving too fast... except in sleep, anyway. "We certainly won't use your money," she admonishes lightly, "Unless you've suddenly landed some job you haven't told me about yet." She may not be Worthington or Hammer wealthy, but she's clearly the better off of the pair. Elijah shakes his head, "I've thought about it. I do try to be productive. I just don't have, y'know, education or skills, things people usually use to get jobs. And I...feel a responsibility. To the voices and the prayers and the calls for help. I would lose a job very quickly if I ran out every time someone got in a car accident three blocks away. I have even thought about becoming a police officer, but I would not want to use a gun." he says simply. He's very comfortable with her here with him, his earlier fears assuaged and her relaxation bleeding into him, allowing him to let down his guard once more. Fern's gift, of course, is in making very strange people feel immediately comfortable and normal. "You have a calling," Fern notes, understanding the situation. It's like her desire to act, in a way. It's just a part of their personal make-up, their quirks, if you will. A memory surfaces and slides through to Elijah, recent and clear. A shooting range, a fully automatic weapon, and her few moments holding and shooting it. Her own feelings on the weapon are mixed, although an undercurrent is clear... if it were a 'him or me' situation where she was sure her life or the life of someone she loved were in danger, 'he' would have to fight to walk out instead of her. She's little, but she's got a lot of self-preservation flowing through her veins. Hurting someone doesn't appeal to her, but it's something she would do if she had to. Has done, filters through her thoughts. Elijah can understand that, although he once would not have. He was raised to be a martyr, after all, to sacrifice himself for others, for the community. It was only in the end, when they tried to kill him, that he realized how deeply he did not want to die...and that he'd be willing to fight ot avoid it. A hard, hard lesson, but there it is. "I feel it is. I don't think I could live with myself if I ignored it. I only do it occasionally - times like now - to keep myself sane. In the beginning, I never stopped. I barely slept, barely ate. I was consumed with redemption, with doing good, with proving myself. I almost got myself killed a few times. Well, I'm not sure I would have actually died, but I was reckless. I got hurt when I shouldn't have. I had to make myself slow down, to breathe. Oddly, although it's so different, I've been learning about meditation, trying to...put those lessons into my life. Just breathing is the very first lesson." Fern crunches her way through one of the last Funyuns in the bag, her thoughts turning contemplative. "Getting yourself killed would mean that you couldn't help anyone at all any more. Your life is just as important as anyone's. Maybe even more important than some." It's not entirely a charitable way to think, but she's a practical young woman. "You do good and you try to make a difference. There are people who think they're entitled to have everything handed to them and never want to work a day in their life for anything." She leans, letting her arm press to his lightly, just another comfortable contact. "You're important," is the simple thought that flows to him. Elijah smiles, "I"m very glad you think so. I try to be. Not in the aggrandizing way, but in the making a difference one." It's true, Eli's never sought a bit of publicity or thanks, usually leaving long before anything resembling the media's even begun to show up. "I try to be more careful with myself now. I'm very hard to kill, thankfully, so my early foolishness didn't have the most terrible of consequences." he says. He squeezes Fern's leg, thankfully, and letting her know that she's important to him. The rest of the world may not have caught on to how awesome she is yet, but he's pretty certain. "I'm glad for that," comes the gentle thought in response to him being hard to kill. Fern doesn't elaborate on it, but with their bond, that's not needed. Sighing softly, she leans her head against Elijah's shoulder, comfortable and relaxed. One hand comes up to stifle a yawn, the busy day of errands and full day of work yesterday catching up to her as she offers the last of the Funyuns to Elijah. A thought drifts out without being edited, "You could stay here to sleep sometimes if you wanted to. I know that I can trust you," and her meaning of that is clear, that she doesn't fear for a second him trying anything too familiar or forward without a clear go-ahead. "I know it's far from Staten Island, but even you need time to recharge your batteries. And sleeping two on this futon isn't any worse than two to a sleeping bag." Of course, with that thought comes the memory of exactly how dangerous two to a sleeping bag could be, when it's these two. Elijah can't help but jump to those memories, and she can get a hint of that surge of desire that runs through him in response to the feeling. Of course, he quickly tries to tamp it down, to push it away, but it's there, no matter how much he may try to pretend it isn't...or, if not pretend, underestimate it, underplay it. Still, the offer of a place to sleep, outside of the elements, is a welcome one. He's lost enough of his martyr's streak to relish sleeping in the open on rainy nights and, while there's a freedom to the rooftops, the loneliness gets even to him sometimes. "I would like that. Thank you," he manages to say simply. There's no mistaking the feeling, and it rushes in like a warm tide, flowing over their shared thoughts, the memory conveyed from Elijah drawing Fern's own feelings about it to the fore before she can pull them back. Partially a kind of awe at the intensity of what they shared, a little bit of satisfaction at the mutual pleasure they found in the shared dream no matter the moments of embarrassment it's made them both face. And, if it happens again... well, it's only a dream. There's a comfortable, warm fuzziness settling around Fern as she grows more weary. "Stay tonight," comes softly, "And we'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Right now it's just nice being close to you." Elijah doesn't take it as an invitation, the way some men might. Still, feeling that mutual pleasure and amazement in her relieves the last of his guilt. Whatever happened between them did not hurt her or upset her, did not damage their friendship or make her think less of him. The fact that it felt so damn good, better than anything he'd ever felt before...well, that certainly lessens the worry a bit, too, doesn't it? Part of him knows he should say no, should head out, if they want to avoid a repeat of the incident but..."I'll stay." he says simply. Fern's head ducks once, her nod affirming his decision, whatever the reasons. "You can take a shower here any time you want, too." It's not the Taj Mahal, but she's clearly willing to share everything she has with him, meager though it might be. "There are clean towels under the sink. We could probably even find something for you to wear long enough to run your clothes through the laundry, if you want. I have some things of my own I can throw in." Of course, that leads to an errant thought of her delicates doing the laundry mambo with his jeans, and it brings a smile to her lips. Elijah grins, "I can't deny I probably could use the shower. The one at the YMCA often suffices, but it is crowded and I find the soap suspiciously hairy," he grins. "And the laundry, too. I would be very grateful for all your help, as I've been for everything you've done for me already. You are a very, very good person, Fern Fiddlehead," he says, and there's nothing cloying or obsequious about it, it's merely a sincere declaration of his own observation and sense of who she is. Fern laughs softly at Elijah's 'words', promising, "There's no hair on my soap. But my shampoo smells like peaches, so I hope you don't mind that." A fact he might have already noticed, but it's still polite to point out. Some boys don't like smelling like peaches. She moves to get up, "I have one of my dad's old robes," I curl up with it when I'm homesick the thought whispers behind her words, "So you can wear that while I get your clothes going on. It'll only take a little while to wash, and I'll be able to change them out by the time you get out of the shower, so they'll be dry by morning." Elijah can smell the robe from her memories, feel it against his skin, even see her dad in it, since that's how she pictures the robe, "It seems very comfortable," he says, not remarking, merely absorbing. "That seems like a good idea." Since the alternative would be nudity. "Also, the shower here, I bet, has hot water that lasts longer than five minutes. Also a plus over the YMCA showers. Plus, no Wily Dave. Wily Dave is always in the showers. I don't like Wily Dave." he says, his mind showing a disheveled sixty year old with bulging eyes and a flabby, hairless chest standing wearing only a towel at the edge of the shower. "No," Fern's thought comes immediately, "I think you should shower here more often." Sure, she has no doubt Elijah can take care of himself, but he shouldn't have to. It's a protective feeling, a rush of warmth that mirrors the protectiveness he's felt for her. She gets to her feet, crumpling the empty Funyuns bag, turning to lob it toward the kitchen garbage. She misses, of course, and will pick that up after he's started getting cleaned up. "You take as long as you want. One thing this building does right is hot water." She's already reaching for some change she always keeps on the kitchen table for the laundry. Elijah laughs, his body silently shaking a bit with it, even as she can hear it in her mind, before he breaks the contact, getting up and moving towards the shower. He didn't necessarily expect to do so now, but, he must admit, he's not getting any better smelling, at least not this way. He heads towards the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder and mouthing another thanks as he heads inside, starting to shed his shirt and pull it up over his head as he goes in to start getting himself clean. Fern waits until she hears the water running, gives it another minute as she putters around the apartment, then she slips the bathroom door open. She gathers up his clothes, leaving the robe in their stead, and silently retreats. Pay no attention to the hesitation as she pauses to watch his silhouette on the shower curtain. Funny how there's such a huge difference between Fern pausing and Wily Dave doing it. Taking her key, she pads down the stairs to the laundry room on the first floor, his clothes in a basket with her own. She gets the load going, knowing that it won't disturb anyone with the thick walls of the building, and pads back up to her apartment as their clothes do the washer mambo together. Flopping back onto the sofa, Fern lays back. It's nice having someone else around. And not just any someone else. With that thought to make her feel safer, she drifts off to sleep waiting for Elijah to emerge. Category:Log